The Dogfather

by Sparkle Abbey

  “If you two will be spending time together, it’s probably a good idea.” I played it low key, not wanting to tip her off that I had my doubts about Lover Boy.

  Agent James set his backpack on the floor. “Am I expected to attend, Ms. Langston?”

  “Yes,” I said, at the same time Betty said, “No.”

  I glared at her to keep quiet.

  “Yes, you should be here. Okay, Tom, let’s show you the ropes.”

  Betty pushed up the sleeves of her loud Hawaiian-print top. “I’ll do it.” She looked a little too eager to boss around our new intern.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “I’ve got five minutes to lay down the Betty Law.” She rubbed her hands together. “First things first, don’t touch the cash register until I’ve reviewed your background check. Don’t sell the pawlish; that’s my turf. And the treat jars.” She cocked her head and stared at him. “Change of plans. You’re in charge of selling the treat jars. You have to sell at least three a week.”

  “Or?” he asked.

  She frowned. “Or what?”

  “If I don’t sell three jars a week?”

  She thought about it for a second. “You’ll have to purchase one.”

  “Betty, you can’t make him purchase unsold merchandise. If that worked, you would own thirty-five dog sweaters.”

  She had the grace to duck her head. “Fine. I take lunch at one thirty every day.”

  He checked his watch, which I recognized immediately as a high-end GPS navigation and activity tracker. It might have looked too expensive for a young entrepreneur intern in the Midwest, but here in Southern California it was a typical accessory. “It’s one thirty-five.”

  She glared at him. “Are you a smarty pants?”

  He shook his head, wide-eyed.

  “Good. There’s only room enough for one of those here.” She hiked up her elastic-waist pants. “What hours you working?” she asked.

  He looked at me. “I was hoping I could work the closing shift.”

  “That’s fine.” It was time for me to take control of what was happening at my boutique after hours. I believed a stakeout of the stakeout was in order. Before he got too comfortable, I continued, “I’ll be here with you.”

  Betty laughed. “She got ya.”

  “You can put your backpack in the office. Then walk around the store and look at the merchandise. Get a feel for what we sell. I’ll talk with you in a few minutes about which items are from local designers. There are a couple we like to hand sell.”

  “I’m outta here,” Betty declared. “When I come back, we’ll continue your training.” After issuing her last order, she dashed out the door.

  He waited until she was no longer in view through the front window. “Where is she going?” he asked, dropping the younger man persona.

  “I have no idea. Maybe you could use your FBI super sleuth skills and find out for me.”

  “You shouldn’t say that out loud. Someone could overhear. It’s against regulations,” he said stiffly.

  Oh Lordy, this was going to be painful. I kept my eye on the door, watching for customers. “Look, before someone shows up, we need to set ground rules.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s not the way it works, Ma’am.”

  I ignored him. My shop, my rules. “First of all, if you want to use my shop as your base of operations, never call me ‘Ma’am’ again. Second, it’s my store so, yes, there are ground rules. Under no circumstances is Betty to know what you’re doing here. Stick with the intern cover; she believes it. You look way too young for her to believe you’re Grey’s overseas art broker. Besides that, you’re not wearing a suit. Betty will call you out on your attire. Don’t let her age fool you; she’s persistent and nosey. If she thinks you’re hiding something, she will make it her mission to uncover your secret. Next, Grey and I are back together so he may pop by occasionally before I leave for Texas in a week.” The lie rolled off my tongue as if it were the truth. Our on-again-off-again status must have made it easier for me to fib. I was sure that was all there was to it.

  Agent James tensed. “He’s not supposed to be here. He can’t participate in the case.”

  Ugh. Another rule follower. We were definitely going to butt heads. “Yes, we’re aware. But as my . . .” I struggled for a label. Not finding one, I said, “What I call him doesn’t matter. He won’t talk about the case with you, so there’s no need to worry should he happen to stop by. Besides, you’ll be grateful when he’s here. He keeps Betty occupied.”

  “I’ll have to inform my superiors.” He sounded unsure. The thought of keeping Betty out of his hair must have been appealing.

  He not only appeared young, he struck me as inexperienced, even with that deep whiskey-aged voice. I narrowed my eyes. “How many cases have you worked on?”

  He cleared his throat. “Counting this one?”

  “Sure.”

  “One.” He dared me to make fun of him.

  I was wrong. We were babysitting. I couldn’t believe they’d replaced a seasoned agent with a green agent.

  I released a heavy sigh and led him toward the office to stow away his personal items.

  “A few pieces of advice, if Callum MacAvoy, TV reporter for Channel 5, stops in the shop, do not talk to him. He’s a rat fink and is only about climbing the career ladder. Always keep in mind he’s a reporter, and no matter what he says, he doesn’t play well with others.”

  “I see.” He dropped his bag on the floor, then slid it under my desk with his foot.

  I prayed he did see. “Betty was serious about the pawlish.”

  He nodded.

  We headed back out front. “The best way to get along with my clients is to authentically engage with their pets. If you’re fake for even a second, they’ll know. You don’t have to push the merchandise. The regulars know exactly what they want; the majority of tourists are just looking. If we’re lucky, they may stumble across something they can’t live without.”

  “Thank you for the tips.” His sincerity surprised me.

  “You’re welcome. Since Grey was always here alone after hours, I’m assuming you’ll do the same. Here’s a key. Make sure you lock up when you leave.”

  He tucked the key in his pocket.

  “Lastly, keep your firearm near you. I’m assuming they briefed you on local crime, but to reiterate, there have been a number of break-ins downtown after business hours. So far no one has been hurt, and nothing taken, but at some point it’s likely to escalate.”

  “Do the local authorities have any leads?”

  Before I could answer, the bell above the front door jingled, and in walked Nina and Dash. I excused myself from Tom and met Nina next to the gourmet treats.

  “Hey there,” I greeted her. I waited for her kiss, kiss, but she only offered one before pulling away.

  She must have been distracted by Agent James who hovered indiscreetly behind us. “Nina, this is Tom. He’s interning for a few weeks. Tom, this is one of my favorite customers, Nina Hernandez, and her adorable dachshund, Dash.”

  He bent down and reached a hand out to Dash, who pranced in a circle. “Very nice to meet you.”

  Dash stopped moving long enough for a solid scratch behind the ears. Agent James then stood and bestowed a dazzling smile in Nina’s direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ms. Hernandez.”

  Nina looked smashing in her pineapple-print romper and wedge sandals. She smiled back at Agent James, smoothing her long brown ponytail with freshly manicured fingers. “Nice to meet you too. Mel, can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Sure. Tom, you’re in charge. Why don’t you show Dash the new chewy toys?” I led Nina toward the coffee bar. “I’d offer you some caffeine, but you seem on edge already. Are you ok
ay?”

  She squeezed the leather strap of her handbag. “You know I love Paws for Angels.”

  “I do. I’m sure Ella has already thanked you, but I’d like to thank you too. It’s wonderful that you’ve offered to be a sponsor. Your donation is the reason we reached our goal.”

  “Right.” She cleared her throat and looked around, obviously struggling to tell me something. “About that . . .”

  I frowned when she didn’t finish her sentence. “I know it’s a large chunk of change. Don’t worry; it’s a tax write off.”

  “Yes, Ella mentioned that. Here’s the deal. My accountant just informed me of a little hiccup,” she rushed out.

  “What kind of hiccup?

  “Well, I’m having a slight cash flow problem.”

  I schooled my expression hoping I didn’t show my surprise. In the socioeconomic circles Nina ran, that was code for tittering on bankruptcy. “I’m sorry to hear. Do you need your check back?” I asked softly.

  Nina looked like she was about to cry. “No, no. Can you just get Ella to hold the check for a few days? Evan said he’d have the situation corrected by Friday.”

  Evan? The Evan? “You employ the same bookkeeper as Mason and Quinn?”

  She nodded. “They recommended him to me when my accountant, Paulie, retired a few months ago.” She leaned close and whispered, “Paulie recommended his partner, but I’d heard through the grapevine that he was spending more time at the fat farm and the plastic surgeon than the office.”

  That didn’t sound unusual for Orange County. “No kidding?”

  She nodded. “I know, right? I wanted someone I could count on, and recognize.”

  “From the one interaction I had with Evan, he seems very thorough.” I patted her arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be very discrete.”

  Her tense shoulders relaxed as she released a heavy sigh. “I knew I could count on you. Thank you.” She squeezed my hand.

  “Of course.”

  “How are you? Any news on Mason’s death?”

  “Not much. The police are still waiting on the autopsy.”

  “Do they have any suspects? I heard about Callum MacAvoy’s TV report. I hate to tell you, people are talking about it. It sounded like your ex could be involved.”

  I forced a smile. “Fake news. You know how MacAvoy is, always looking for the salacious angle on a story. Since you brought it up, I am curious. How often do you shop at the boutique?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe once a month. I don’t always buy something, but it’s fun to look.”

  “I have a love affair with handbags myself. I was wondering if you knew Bree Young. Tall blond with a braid that hangs down to her waist. She shops at Hot Handbags, too.”

  She shook her head. “She doesn’t sound familiar. I’m sorry. Is it important?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I noticed Agent James and Dash stood behind me. I turned. By the look on his face—Agent James, not the dog—he’d been listening to our conversation. He was sharper than I wanted to believe.

  “I found a jar of treats behind the counter. Do you care if I give one to Dash?” he asked Nina.

  “Just one.”

  “Got it. Nice purse. It looks like something my mom would like.”

  I hated to admit it, but he found a smooth way to use his young looks to his advantage of putting people at ease as he secretly questioned them.

  She smiled, surprised. She caressed her hazel tote. “Thanks. It’s a recent splurge. You have a good eye. I just love Saint Laurent.”

  He looked confused. “Sorry, I’m not familiar with the saints. I’m protestant.”

  Nina suffocated a snicker. Her gaze darted in my direction.

  “That’s a French design house.” I prayed his lack of designer knowledge was an act.

  “Oh. Yes. Of course.” He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. “Ms. Langston, I’d like to take a short break.”

  Hopefully it was to brush up on his designer brands. “Call me Mel. Be back in fifteen.”

  Once he walked away, Nina asked, “He’s not from around here, is he?”

  “How could you tell?” I was only half joking.

  He was good with the animals, but if he was going to crack Grey’s case at Hot Handbags, Agent James was going to need all the help he could get.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I MANAGED TO GET Ella to hold Nina’s check until the weekend by telling her the accountant cut it on the wrong account and that Nina would bring a different check to the party. Ella was none the wiser, and Nina was thrilled.

  By three o’clock, Betty had returned with fresh pretzels, hot cheese, a large bouquet of flowers, and Leo. The food was her way of buttering me up to drop a bombshell. Leo had to be the grenade. The good Lord only knew when she would pull the pin. I prayed we had enough time to take cover.

  Betty placed her flowers on the counter, front and center, so everyone could admire them.

  Once Agent James had finished assisting a handful of customers, Betty quizzed him on the types of merchandise we carried, the proper way to answer the phone, how to make a sale, and finally, how many treat jars he’d sold.

  “Isn’t she a firecracker?” Leo asked with a besotted smile on his square face.

  More like a nuclear bomb. “Looks like we’ll be spending more time together now that you and Betty are . . . spending time together.”

  He adjusted the vase of flowers so they sat in a ray of sunlight. “Ah, yes. More opportunities to persuade you to expand the business.”

  “Is that what you were talking to Quinn about the other day? You offered to help her expand too?”

  “Something like that.” He watched Betty instruct Agent James on the proper way to hang the doggie tuxedos.

  I held back from snapping my fingers in his face to get his complete attention. “Whatever it was you offered, she was adamant that she wasn’t interested.”

  “She’ll change her mind. She always does once she realizes what’s in it for her.” His shrewd smile put me on alert. “Mason and I had an agreement. I expect her to honor it. I just offered to sweeten the deal now that she’s a widow.”

  I pressed for details. “Seems Mason was making all kinds of deals without his wife’s knowledge. What did he agree to?”

  “To sell me his business.”

  I didn’t see that coming. Did Grey know? I fought the urge to look at Agent James. A better question would be, did Leo know about the counterfeit handbags? “Nothing in writing?”

  “A man’s word is binding.”

  “I see. Quinn doesn’t seem the type to blindly follow secondhand information. In fact, she seemed to be in a good place for someone whose husband had just died.” I wondered if he’d had the same opinion of their marriage as Evan.

  He looked at me thoughtfully, weighing his words. “Yes, she does. She’s, dare I say, happier.”

  Was he implying Quinn was glad her husband was dead?

  “Cookie,” Betty yelled across the room. I jumped.

  “What?”

  She stomped toward us. Here it was. The bomb.

  “You’ve been holding out on me. Tommy Boy said you and Grey are officially an item again. I can’t believe you told him before me, but I forgive you.”

  Well, crapola. This bomb was of my own making.

  She wrapped her twiggy arms around my waist and squeezed. “He obviously followed my advice. I knew it would work.”

  I wondered what advice she’d given Grey. I hugged her back, swallowing my guilt. It was one thing to lie to a complete stranger; it was another thing all together to lie to Betty. She was genuinely excited for us and felt she’d had a hand in orchestrating our reunion.

  “Now, don’t get too excited. W
e’re still working things out.” I felt the need to downplay the fake reunion.

  She straightened her outfit and looked at Leo. “Wait until you meet Cookie’s man. Hubba hubba. He’s a catch.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. What does he do again?”

  “He’s famous,” Betty bragged. “He owns ACT Gallery.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s not famous.”

  Betty’s gray eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now that you’re back together, I guess that means I’m in charge.” She puffed out her chest.

  I sensed a train wreck in my immediate future. “What are you talking about?

  “When you two go to Texas to meet the baby.” She narrowed her eyes in our intern’s direction. “Don’t you worry. I’ll keep my eye on him.”

  Dang. I hadn’t thought that through. Of course, everyone would assume Grey would accompany me. I immediately began digging out of the hole I’d created.

  “We haven’t talked about it. With the trip being such short notice, I’m not sure he can get away.”

  Plus the fact that he was a suspect in a possible murder; Malone may not want him to leave town. I crossed my fingers Grey would be in the clear by then.

  Betty shook her finger at me. “What could be more important than joining you in Dallas to see your family? He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  He would if I didn’t invite him. How would I ever explain that? I prayed our fake reunion didn’t get back to Dallas. Lord have mercy on my sinner’s soul if my mama found out I’d been lying about me and Grey. There would be hell to pay.

  I STEPPED NEXT door hoping to catch Darby, but she wasn’t in. I sent her a text and in the spur of the moment, walked up the street to Hot Handbags.

  It seemed Quinn held the answers to many of my questions. Who was Leo, really? What, if anything, did Quinn know about Bree Young.

  I walked inside the store and inhaled the enticing scent of expensive leather. The steady stream of customers that had been there a couple of days earlier had decreased significantly. It wasn’t because the appetite for gossip had been satisfied. If I had to guess, it was because there wasn’t a new scandal to buzz about. Give it time.